Luna-Venestus

Fall in love with everything but people. Fall in love with ideas: anarchy and LaVeyan Satanism. Fall in love with solitary back-packing through Israel or Mexico. Fall in love with gamma radiation or tiger-taming, MMA cage fighting or free-climbing the Rocky Mountains, but do not fall in love with people. People will want you for your similarities to one or more of their parents; they will want you for the outline, the concept of you; they will want you because you want them – they will not know what they want. People will take the bed you shared and fuck other people in the barely cooled indent of your absent body (they will also tak

The empty coffee cup lands straight on top of your left foot. You cringe before the impact and you feel the fresh sting of ceramic shards being etched into your foot as they peel away the skin. Your sister screams and asks if you are okay, putting a caring hand on your shoulder. You shrug her off and grab a handful of paper towels to stop the blood and tease her about being so easily scared, just like you used to when you were young. The whispers from the end of the hallway had stopped, but they soon picked up again and you breathe a sigh of relief. Your sister hadn't scared the children. You try and bandage your foot while fighting off your

It would have been impossible for us not to meet again in this cyclical world, our born-again spirits stuffed inside born-again flesh. I laugh at the gods, picturing their aggravated astonishment at how many times they have placed us back here, trying to ready us for ascension, our ne'er-do-well souls ignoring their feeble attempts to enlighten our selves. Our same-sex bodies eventually end up at gay bars -- you a gay man, I your straight male comrade, or you a straight woman, and I the lesbian best friend. We laugh at each other, you eying male enchantments, wondering why I like to kiss two sets of lips instead of one,

Smoking, I see how beautiful you are as we stand in the late-night Citgo parking lot and your hands cup around my cigarette, dim lights showing you perfect, while car passersby's honk at us like we're hookers: me in my cowgirl hat, and you in your high-heeled wedges, smiling at me in a way I wish was love. You sing with me to Brown Eyed Girl, even though your eyes are so strikingly green, and when we dance the electric slide in the sandpits of the small stadium the scarecrow festival provides, I can't help but catch them every time we kick and turn. In our pictures I'm always staring at you while you look off to some dist

Got a secret Can I keep it? Don't know what to say. If I tell them, then I'll sell it But the price I'll have to pay. Now that I know, how can I go And expect this to mend. But should I keep this a secret, Because you are my friend. This little secret, I can't keep it. Swore this one I'd save. Said I'd lock it, in my pocket, But tonight my mind has changed. If I don't tell, then I will Be forced to watch this. But I might keep this a secret because Ignorance is bliss. Oh this secret, I think I'll keep it. At least for today Have a feeling, so appealing, Taking this one to the grave If I show them then I know they Will

Call me Ishmail and Moby, and Dick and Tom, not Harry Harry was my father and it still reeks of whiskey and a hollow house that silence settled long ago. Actions speak louder than lips, and a tongue is more at home with a partner, not alone to tie itself in ribbons and forget just how to speak a mind so full of trouble. Nobody knows Jack, or Jane, or just what your mother used to call you before she lost her head, or what you have become or just what you are, and are not anymore. But you know that a child is all that is left, with the rest being shades of gray, that fill A book lost in translation.

Piper honey, play me a song full of hangnails and heartache and a promise broken on every note that walks away, to leave me wanting Caterpillar sweetheart, show me your wings those spines of snow and silk not yet so full of lust and colour, too vibrant that the masses beg in awe, for the relief in locked doors. Lover darling, teach me to dance with powerful strokes and tender tips of fingers glancing and dancing and teasing lead by the lips of an angel, a taste and a smile, of saccharine love, that hangs Adam for being a man.